


After

by JamiAlexandra7



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Belated Declarations of Love, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I made myself sad, Inspired By Tumblr, Inspired by Art, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 10:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3324503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamiAlexandra7/pseuds/JamiAlexandra7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months after Sherlock's death, John begins to recover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a painting(?) I saw on Tumblr a while ago. It's gorgeous, check it out at http://tumblebuggie.tumblr.com/post/17645821898 . 
> 
> I think that Mycroft would have felt at least a little bit guilty about how badly John was doing after Sherlock "died", and that Sherlock would have demanded he keep and eye on John, and I don't think Mycroft would have let John get to the point of mournstache, so here's an alternative.

 Two months after Sherlock's death, Mycroft Holmes approached John with the business card of a therapist - he had personally vetoed the shortlist - and unshakeable calm. He let John rage and scream at him, silently accepted all of the blame, and then suggested that John seek help. Almost entirely against his will, Mycroft had come to care about the man who had been so good for his little brother, and was reluctant to see him spiral further into depression than he already had. Or at least, that was what he told John.

 Six months after Sherlock's death, and after four months of therapy, Mycroft was back in 221b with a job offer: a month of retraining and some physical therapy if necessary, and John could start full-time in A&E at Saint Mary's. With barely a moment's hesitation, John accepted. The therapist Mycroft had sent him to had done wonders, and John was doing better than he had in ages - possibly since before he'd joined up to serve Queen and Country. But he was bored: he still missed Sherlock terribly, and locum work was driving him out of his skull with scrapes and sniffles.

 Eight months after Sherlock's death and still seeing his therapist regularly, John had finally admitted - to himself and out loud - the feelings for Sherlock that he had been stubbornly denying since they'd moved in together. It hadn't been easy, and John had gotten embarrassingly angry at Dr Michaels the first time he had brought up the subject (bisexual with preference a for women sexually had been old news, but that relationships with men were more fulfilling and successful had been a bit of a, well, _guided realization_ ), but he'd finally come to terms with the guilt and resentment he'd felt for not telling Sherlock sooner - for not telling him before he'd been forced to watch him fall.

 Ten months after Sherlock's death, John felt like a bit of an idiot walking up the hill to Sherlock's grave with a bouquet of wild flowers. That morning, he'd woken up smiling from a dream that had ended with him and Sherlock curled up on the couch at Baker Street with wine and Chinese food - not that that, or any dream of Sherlock, for that matter, was uncommon for John - and gone for a run before work. His shift had flown by; all of the staff had seemed to be in a good mood, and, despite three car crashes (amongst other things) coming in, they hadn't lost a single patient that day. In short, it had been a rather fantastic day, and John wanted to tell Sherlock about it. He still visited every Sunday with Mrs Hudson, of course, but they rarely stayed for more than a few minutes, and today he wanted to tell Sherlock everything that had happened since he'd left. John approached the gravestone smiling, bouquet hidden behind his back (as if that would fool anyone, let alone Sherlock), and kissed the top of it, idly wishing he'd kissed the top of Sherlock's head while he'd had the chance. Setting the flowers down, John sat cross-legged and began to talk.

 Two hours later John wiped the last traces of tears off his face and stood, slightly stiff from having sat on the hard ground for so long. Touching his fingertips to the engraved name gently, John turned to leave, saying, "I'll see you Sunday, love," under his breath.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a betareader and I wrote this in about half an hour, so if anyone sees any mistakes or awkwardness, please point them out to me! Thank you :)
> 
> Please consider [supporting me on Patreon!](https://www.patreon.com/jamialexandra7) <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Months](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5247017) by [JamiAlexandra7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamiAlexandra7/pseuds/JamiAlexandra7)




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